violent horse-laughter. While the spectators were all sobbing before
him with emotion, suddenly one of those grotesque faces would peep out
upon him, and he could not resist the impulse. A timely excuse once or
twice served his purpose; but no audiences could be expected to bear
repeatedly this violation of the continuity of feeling. He describes
them (the illusions) as so many demons haunting him, and paralyzing
every effect. Even now, I am told, he cannot recite the famous soliloquy
in 'Hamlet,' even in private, without immoderate bursts of laughter.
However, what he had not force of reason sufficient to overcome he had
good sense enough to turn into emolument, and determined to make a
commodity of his distemper. He prudently exchanged the buskin for the
sock, and the illusions instantly ceased; or, if they occurred for a
short season, by their very cooperation added a zest to his comic
vein,--some of his most catching faces being (as he expresses it) little
more than transcripts and copies of those extraordinary phantasmata.

"We have now drawn out our hero's existence to the period when he was
about to meet for the first time the sympathies of a London audience.
The particulars of his success since have been too much before our eyes
to render a circumstantial detail of them expedient. I shall only
mention, that Mr. Willoughby, his resentments having had time to
subside, is at present one of the fastest friends of his old renegado
factor; and that Mr. Listen's hopes of Miss Parker vanishing along with
his unsuccessful suit to Melpomene, in the autumn of 1811 he married his
present lady, by whom he has been blest with one son, Philip, and two
daughters, Ann and Angustina."

* * * * *

"Ask anybody you meet," writes Lamb to Miss Wordsworth, then visiting